


The Burdens We Bear

by freckledshoulderblades



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Everyone Is Gay, F/F, Implied/Referenced Character Death, also i swear too much and as a result my writing reflects that, and married lesbians are the best, au where aerith never died but someone had to take her place, chicken soup for the soul: therapy edition, tbh my goal here is to flood ffvii with more lesbians, trauma is a bitch, uh but seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-20 17:41:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11340222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckledshoulderblades/pseuds/freckledshoulderblades
Summary: Sometimes the burdens we bear are traumatic events. Other times, they're literal fucking ghosts.In which people keep telling Tifa to go to therapy because almost dying by your childhood friend's hand would fuck anyone up royally.a five/one fic because if i'm doing this again i might as well conform to old fic standards





	The Burdens We Bear

Cid, surprisingly enough, is the first to recommend Tifa go see a therapist. He says as much over their monthly tea in the gruff way he says things that really matter.

She's caught off guard and contemplates decking him for being rude.

Tifa's fist is halfway across the small tea table in Cid's living room when Vincent materializes out of the shadows, stepping in calmly and restraining her with ease. It's a testament to his strength for certain, but Tifa's too annoyed to comment on it.

A moment passes before the ex-Turk lets her arm go, staring at her over the lip of his cape. She sees the way the corners of his eyes crinkle into a pseudo smile and sighs. Tifa reaches for her tea.

Cid, unfazed by the whole ordeal, fishes out a cigarette from his pocket.

"You're an ass, Cid." she mutters. Vincent takes a seat to her right as Cid lights up.

He shrugs, taking a drag. He exhales, saying, "You're fucked up, kiddo. Gotta let it out somewhere."

Cid pours a cup of tea for Vincent wordlessly, who accepts it with a slight nod. The gunner unclasps his cloak, baring his face, and Tifa's struck by just how young he looks.

She takes a sip, attention back on Cid. "I was trying to." she dryly comments. Vincent's mouth quirks upwards in an awkward smile.

Cid grins at that. "Not sayin' it to be a jackass, kiddo. We're all fucked up." He gestures at Vincent with his cigarette in hand. "I mean hell, this fucker's the most well adjusted shit I know and he was experimented on."

Vincent inclines his head in agreement. "Cid has also been attending therapy for some time." Tifa glances at Cid, who grumbles as his face goes slightly red. "I believe he thinks you may find the experience enlightening."

She considers the thought, entertains the notion of spilling her secrets to a complete stranger. A moment passes and she shakes her head.

"Cid. I'm fine." she lies.

Vincent angles his gaze towards her, the edges of his mouth turned down slightly. Cid shuffles around in his chair for a minute, reaching into pockets and pulling out an array of tools and snacks, before handing her a slightly worn business card. He throws it at her and stands from his chair.

"Ya ain't looked me in the eyes since Cloud died, kid." he sighs. "Aerith says you got nightmares almost every night. And Red ain't seen ya for the last six months." He takes another drag on his cigarette, exhaling towards the ceiling, and drops the bud in his tea. It fizzles out instantly, a small trail of smoke weaving upwards.

She notices too late that he's gone, fixated on the smoke trail, and starts when Vincent taps her lightly on the shoulder.

"I apologize if we caused you any undue stress-" he begins, and she nearly trips over herself apologizing.

"No, no! It's fine Vincent, don't worry. You're just." she pauses, "You're just being good friends."

Vincent laughs at that, an awkward sort of thing and for a second she's so incredibly grateful he looks nothing like Cloud. Tifa smiles, hesitant.

"We worry for your health, is all. I'm quite certain neither of us have been good friends in a long time." He quiets after that, standing and taking Cid's cup in hand. Vincent walks over to the kitchenette, fishing out the bud and throwing it into the trash.

We have all been through ordeals that would fell typical men and women." He thinks for a second. "And large cats, I suppose."

Tifa nods, hands wrapped around the small teacup.

"And with those ordeals having been gone through, there is always the remnant of a memory that we must deal with all the same." He grows still save for his right hand, rubbing lightly on his left forearm. Tifa glances away, hand subconsciously twitching towards her stomach.

"We all understand your hesitancy in rejoining our efforts. Once was certainly enough for most of us." He laughs wryly. "Even so, for the time being."

Tifa looks up and flinches when she sees Vincent, sitting easily across from her with his gauntlet off and his sleeve pulled up. The flesh of his left arm is mottled and black, as though it were burned to a crisp. He wears a sad smile when she tears her eyes away from it.

"For the time being, Tifa, there are steps you must take to become whole again. Therapy could be one of them."

"It seems like," she begins, and hates how her voice sounds small and scared, "Vincent, it seems like you're only asking me because you want me to rejoin AVALANCHE."

He tilts his head slightly. "I would be lying if I said otherwise. However, our insistence has more to do with your recovery than anything else. Although," Vincent smiles, a sharp, dangerous grin. "You would be most welcome on the battlefield."

She's quiet for a long time after that, thinking of Aerith and the newly renovated 7th Heaven. Vincent moves silently as he cleans up after their tea, letting her stew in her thoughts.

"We repainted some of the stained glass." she finally says. Vincent hums in response.

When Tifa doesn't respond, he turns to her, wiping his good hand on a dry towel. "Why so?" he inquires.

She takes a deep breath and leans back in her chair. "They were blue."

 

* * *

 

Tifa doesn't really visit the church in Sector 5 anymore, not since _mako blue eyes and the sound of finely sharpened metal on stone and a dead voice asking her name_. Aerith still tends the flowers there and as a result Tifa meets her there fairly often - but she never goes inside.

She rebuilds 7th Heaven with the help of some local carpenters and a few ex-SOLDIER's, men and women with strength and discipline and the knowledge of what Tifa and her friends did for the planet. One in particular was in the running for First Class when she left - halfway through the mako treatments.

Tifa doesn't talk to her much. Aerith, ever the mediator, has to explain why.

There are days when she wakes up and feels no weight on her chest, no ache where the scar on her stomach twists and knots the surrounding skin. Those days are few and far between and treasured, every second of them. Aerith lives for those days, when she's woken up with sweet kisses and sweeter coffee and eventually dragged out of bed for a busy day out.

The bad days start with mako blue eyes watching her accusatorily from across the room and the slow grind of sword on her wooden floor. Aerith talks to the figure, slowly and evenly, offering flowers and trinkets she knows he'd like.

Tifa covers her head with their duvet and refuses to leave, her eyes shut tight. Aerith brings her food and drink, helps her navigate their home when she needs to leave. The bad days wear on Aerith too, Tifa can see that in the way her shoulders are hunched and her mouth is drawn in a tight line. Her bad days don't leave her so debilitated, though Tifa thinks that might just be because she refuses to be anything but helpful.

 

* * *

 

Four months pass between the end of their journey and Tifa's first doctor appointment in seven years, and only at Aerith's behest and Vincent's (and by extension, Cid's) threats. She's in the waiting room with a forced smile and clenched fists when her name is called with the sort of wonder she usually thinks is reserved for celebrities and the President.

"Ms. Lockhart?" the voice repeats, and Tifa stands. Instantly all eyes shift to her, and the other seven people in the room begin to whisper amongst themselves. She catches murmurs of "...part of AVALANCHE..." and "...stopped Meteor..." as she strides over to the doctor, who smiles openly and leads her to an examination room.

"Alright," the doctor begins, shuffling around some paperwork. "What brings you here today, Ms. Lockhart?"

"Stomach pain." she replies stiffly.

The doctor smiles again. Tifa wonders absently if medical school has to teach that sort of thing.

"Well, let's take a look then. Can you please remove your overshirt so I can get a better reading?" She's still smiling when Tifa removes her shirt, but it quickly fades. Tifa watches with something close to satisfaction how fast her face pales, before she swallows and regains her composure.

"You weren't kidding." the doctor says as she eyes the ugly scar that runs through her stomach. Tifa nods and lies down on the examination bed.

The doctor sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Okay. I'm going to need some information." she pauses briefly, scribbling something on her notes. "I also understand your line of work and why this might be difficult for you to explain, but I need you to do your best if we're going to fix this in any capacity."

"You're all business now." Tifa remarks sarcastically.

She fixes Tifa with a hard stare. "A patient just walked into my examination room with a badly healed stomach wound that means they shouldn't be alive. They're suffering from extreme pain, if your body language is any indicator. They also have a reputation for dangerous work."

Tifa laughs and groans immediately after. "Yeah, that's fair." she whispers.

"Now, when did this occur?"

"About a year ago."

The doctor pauses and swears under her breath. "And do you recall what medical attention you were given thereafter?"

Tifa nods. "A hi-potion and some stitches."

"Applied orally or directly to the wound?"

She thinks back to the marble dais, to the puddle of blood, to Barret and Yuffie running to her aid. Tifa blinks a few times.

"I'm not sure. I wasn't really all there."

Of course, that's a lie. She remembers every agonizing second, but her attention had been focused on the body she'd been curled around protectively.

The doctor nods and writes a few things down.

"Did you receive any medical attention after this event occurred?"

Tifa shakes her head. The doctor swears again.

"Now, the weapon used." she says, and Tifa freezes. A full minute passes before the doctor looks up expectantly.

"Ms. Lockhart, the weapon?" she asks again.

"It was a Buster Sword," she hears herself say. Her voice sounds distant and tinny. "One foot wide, six feet long. Two materia slots. Equipped with an All and a Restore."

The doctor allows for a moment of silence before remarking, "You're quite lucky to be alive, Ms. Lockhart."

 _No_ , she thinks. _I'm really not_.

 

* * *

 

She ends up visiting Cosmo Canyon two weeks after her visit to the clinic with the intention of patching things up between her and Red.

He meets her at the gate, tail flicking back and forth, and doesn’t say a word. The gatekeeper recognizes her and lets her in, smiling, and Red walks away deliberately.

Tifa takes the time to set up her lodgings and grab a bite to eat.

She’s halfway through her meal when Bugenhagen floats up next to her, gray eyes twinkling behind his glasses. Tifa sets her drink down, gesturing next to her.

“Would you like a seat?” she offers, and he smiles, shaking his head.

“No, thank you. I will not bother you long.”

He tugs at his beard for a moment, thinking. Bugenhagen inhales, then must decide better against whatever he was about to say, because he merely remains floating with his hand clasped around his beard.

“Do you know,” he begins a moment later, and Tifa turns to give him her full attention, “of the tale of Ramuh?”

She pauses, searching her memory. Short of picking up a materia that could summon him - or at least some incarnation of him - she had no idea. Tifa shakes her head and returns to her food.

Bugenhagen smiles again, wider this time. “One telling believes he was an old hermit, living on top of a mountain in solitude when he was struck by lightning and henceforth became a godlike entity.” He floats lower and closer to the table, placing his arms upon it and folding his hands together. “Another tale favors his love for mortals and as such, he transformed himself into pieces of materia, hidden around the planet in order to help those that came calling.”

He turns to face her head on and for a moment, he seems so much taller than he actually is. “I, for one, ascribe to the belief that he is both, and has done both, and currently lives out his days educating the young in an effort to save the planet.”

Tifa freezes. Bugenhagen leans back, floating away just enough for her to hear him whisper, “Nanaki is troubled and seeks to blame you as a result. Please talk to him.”

She nods dumbly, still paralyzed by shock.

 

“Did you know that in the past year, you’ve never called me by my real name?”

Tifa resists the urge to fall into her stance, fists at the ready, and instead calmly says, “I wasn’t aware that’s what you wanted.”

Red - Nanaki, she corrects herself - sits lazily on top of a building, a fair few feet above her. His paws are dangling off the rooftop, expression bored.

She blinks at him, slowly, and his eyes narrow.

“Perhaps you weren’t aware I wanted that because you’ve avoided me since our return.” His words are cold and she desperately wants to bite back with venom of her own, but she stills her tongue.

When she doesn’t respond, he snarls. “I’m _sorry_ , Tifa. I thought we were friends. You know, after we _saved the planet together._ ”

Tifa sighs, feeling decades older. “I’m sorry, Nanaki.”

She hears his claws dig into the stone roof, the snarl in his voice increasing to a deafening roar. “You’re merely here because Grandfather told you to be. You don’t care, you _never_ have, and you _never_ will.”

Red leaps down in front of her, teeth bared and hackles raised. “You’re just like the rest of them,” he begins, and she’s trying to keep her composure, trying not to snap at one of her dearest friends,

“You belong in _ShinRa_.”

Her fist hits him before she can even recognize that its happened, sending him flying a good ten feet away. Red lands on his paws, unleashing a chilling howl. Tifa readies herself and mentally runs through the materia she thought to bring on her journey.

All thoughts of preparation flee her mind when he pounces on her, teeth digging into her shoulder and drawing blood. She kicks him off and rolls over, flicking hair from her face. Rage boils up from deep within her and she screams, charging Red and tackling him.

Holding him down takes more of an effort than she realizes, wrapping her stocky body around his and attempting to place Red in a headlock. She ends up with her legs preventing his hind legs from moving, her arms looping through his forelegs and around his neck.

Tifa’s still screaming, and it takes her a second to realize she’s not doing it mindlessly.

“How the hell could I have come back when I can barely leave my bed because I’ve got a fucking _ghost_ hanging over me?” She smacks the back of his head and Red growls at her, mollified only the smallest bit by her ranting. “How could I come back to see my friends when the most I can do is run a fucking _bar_?!” He quiets as her grip loosens into shaking limbs and panicked breathing. “How could I come back when you’re the leader of a fucking nation and I’m nothing but a bartender that nearly got killed by her best friend?”

Red’s silent for a few minutes after he tumbles out of her grasp. She’s curled in on herself, her breathing coming short and swift and he curls around her in turn, letting his Fire materia run through him enough to warm the chill in her bones.

They stay like that for what seems like hours, until the day breaks over the horizon and her mindless petting nearly puts him to sleep for the fifth time. Red yawns, stretches out, and says casually,

“You need some therapy.”

Tifa throws a rock at him and sniffles. “You need lessons in not being a dick.” she retorts.

 

* * *

 

Barret brings Marlene over later that week under the pretense of meeting up for coffee and sweets, a mid-month favorite of Aerith's. She's absolutely ecstatic too, once Barret knocks on their door and Marlene shouts, loud enough to wake the whole Sector, "We gotta go get cookies!"

Aerith pulls her out of bed seconds later, giving Tifa seconds to register bright blue mako eyes across the room, and then they're off getting ready in the bathroom. Barret lets himself in with their spare key (We want a place where you and Marlene can stay, they said. Can be safe, they meant.) and sets the excitable five year old down at the kitchen table.

They hear him knock on their bedroom door before he sighs heavily. "Hey there, Spike." they hear him murmur softly, and Tifa screws her eyes shut even as she brushes her teeth.

Aerith finishes up a second later, her hair picture perfect and smile a bit forced.

"Barret!" she calls as she leaves the bathroom, bounding over to hug the man. He picks her up and spins her around, watches as Marlene bounds over to hug Aerith when she lands.

"Auntie Aerith!" she calls, and Aerith swoops her up in her arms, metal bangles clinking softly against each other. Tifa wipes her mouth and brushes her hair roughly, pulling it into a no nonsense pony tail.

She walks out and staunchly avoids glancing into their bedroom.

"Hey Barret," she says and it comes easier than she expected. Marlene screams, "Auntie Tifa!" She struggles in Aerith’s grip until she’s set down and barrels towards Tifa’s midsection. The five year old bundle of energy collides with her stomach and Tifa doubles over in pain, the wind knocked out of her. Biting back a curse, she plants a smile on her face and kneels down to hug her.

"Shoot, I'm sorry." Barret apologizes, drawing Marlene back with a pained grimace. He kneels down as well, catching his daughter's shoulder with a stern look. "Remember, Auntie Tifa's tummy hurts a lot. Ya can't just do that, okay honey?"

Marlene looks back at Tifa. She nods. "Sorry sweetheart, I've got a boo boo."

"We're headin' out for some ice cream today. Sound good?"

Tifa nods and stands, wincing.

 

Barret sits next to Tifa, the bench creaking under their combined weight, and takes a bite out of his cone.

"Ya know." he begins, and she interrupts him with a stare.

"If you're about to tell me to go to therapy, I swear to gods."

He laughs, loud and boisterous, and she nearly smiles despite the threat being true.

"Who's been tellin' ya that?" He wonders aloud.

"Only Cid. And Vincent. A doctor that I was forced to go to, and Red."

Barret hums into his ice cream. "Not Aerith?"

Tifa shakes her head and looks out at where Aerith and Marlene are playing in the sandbox. "She understands what it's like."

Barret nods. "You know," he begins, "I've been a few times."

Tifa stares at him.

"What?!" He holds his metal arm to his chest in a gesture of mock pain. "You think I can't be soft?!" She starts laughing. "You think I can't have," he sniffs dramatically, "emotions?!"

She's giggling hard enough that her stomach starts to ache. Tifa groans, straightening her posture and relieving the pressure on her abdomen.

"Listen. I went for a while. After Dyne."

And that's really all he has to say, because they're essentially one and the same in this moment. Both fought for the right reasons and lost so much along the way, both nearly died for those that turned against them.

Though, in her defense, he hadn't really turned against her.

"It did me good. Stopped me from pullin' some stupid shit I mighta pulled." He sounds broken, on the verge of tears. Tifa leans against him, a familiar position from back when they ran AVALANCHE.

Barret takes a shaky breath and continues. "And I ain't stupid, there's some shitty docs out there. Wanna fuck with ya more than help ya. Treat you like Hojo would."

Tifa shudders at the thought. Vincent had gotten away, so had Cloud. She's not sure she could be so strong.

"But in the end, mine helped out. So did Cid's. Hell, he ain't even bitchin' bout Shera no more."

She laughs at that, short and harsh. "I saw him, a couple months ago. When he told me to go."

Barret turns his head towards hers. "Yeah?"

Tifa nods into his shoulder. "She broke something or other in the workshop. Thought I was gonna have to intervene. Vincent stopped me." She hums thoughtfully. "He didn't even get mad. He just opened the door and asked if she was alright, and I'm pretty sure she started crying."

Barret swore. "He did a fuckin' number on her."

She nods again. "He's trying to fix it. And Vincent's there to make sure everything goes well."

"Never was a fan of how he treated her." he says, and there's an undercurrent to how he says it that makes Tifa pause.

He takes a breath then, slow in and slow out, and nudges her up off of his shoulder. He finishes his cone in a few quick bites, turning to her with strawberry on his beard.

"You should go." He says with such finality that she finally considers it as a viable option.

"I don't even know how to go about this." she counters.

"Look it up. Fuckin' Moogle it. You have the ability to." He stares her down, brown eyes sharp and knowing. "You're just too fuckin' scared."

 

* * *

 

"Hello." the therapist says, her voice mild and easy. "May I call you Tifa?"

Tifa nods, hands digging into the couch. She's stiff and her stomach is paying for it, sharp lightning strikes of pain radiating through her body. She'd honestly like to relax, but she can't - not with this woman in front of her and _bright mako blue_ to her left and -

"Tifa?" the woman - Dr. Bright - calls, and the way she says it sounds so much like Aerith that for a moment, she's grounded.

"Yes." she croaks out, between the waves of sharp pain.

"Would you like to lay down?" she asks, and Tifa doesn't want to, but she glances to her left.

He doesn't look as accusatory as she remembers. Maybe because she hasn't been able to look him in the eye for the better part of a year.

She hears a hum and then a scratch of pen on paper. "Would you like to describe what you're seeing, then?" she doesn't sound angry or annoyed, just curious. Like she can't see him.

Tifa turns to her, incredulous. "You can't see him?"

The doctor smiles, shakes her head. "I think I gave you the wrong impression. I can see him fine, I'm just more interested in what you see when you see him."

She mulls over the question. "Blue." she blurts out, and her face reddens. "That's kind of obvious though, isn't it."

The woman gazes at her evenly. "Mako ghosts do tend to remain blue up until their departure from this existence."

"Then...I still think blue. But not because of what I see now. His eyes were blue. Even before the treatments."

Dr. Bright nods. "I see. And what was he like? Did that change him in any way?"

Tifa thinks. "He was always so quiet. His mother wasn't all there." She pulls a face. "I mean, she was there physically, but not mentally."

She turns to his ghost and watches him frown, like he's considering something. He eventually comes to some sort of conclusion, because he shrugs. She still avoids his eyes.

"Sorry," she breathes, "I don't think I should talk about him."

Her therapist writes something down and says, "We can talk about whatever you feel comfortable telling me. I would like to ask you a few questions, if you would like to answer them."

Tifa's eyes narrow. "What are they?"

The doctor flips over her notepad. Tifa catches a brief glance at the first page - it's full to the brim, even the margins are written in.

"What would you like to work on while you are here?"

 _Okay_ , she thinks. _That's innocuous enough_. "I'd like to have more good days than bad."

Dr. Bright smiles. "I think that's something we can definitely work on." She makes a small note in her notepad and looks back up. "Is there anything else I can help you work towards?"

Tifa shakes her head, then turns to him. She forces herself to look him in the eyes and feels her heart jump into her throat, feels the cold metal of a blade slide into her stomach, feels life leave her bones -

" _Fuck_ ," she whispers, holding her stomach. She starts hyperventilating and Dr. Bright immediately moves to her side, instructing her to breathe in and out, slowly as she can.

"Alright, good, now breathe in...and out..." she says, and she sounds strong and determined and Tifa nearly starts crying.

"I can't look at him," she starts and everything - every emotion and fear and morning she's woken up to accusatory mako blue - pours out of her in a tidal wave of tears. " _Fuck_ , he tried to kill me and I can't look at him because he blames _me_ for something and all I did was fall in love with the girl he left behind and _I can't look at him_ -"

Dr. Bright touches her shoulder briefly. "Tifa."

She jerks away like her life depends on it, fists raised to defend - she hears the cold sound of steel on stone and she panics.

 

Aerith arrives at the designated time to pick Tifa up from her appointment, nervously biting her nails. The receptionist looks up as she enters the building and smiles at her.

 _It looks strained_ , she thinks, before Tifa bursts out of the adjacent room with a fervor that she'd only seen in battle.

"How'd it go?" Aerith asks brightly, dreading the answer.

"I fought my demons." Tifa answers dryly, and Aerith falters.

"Oh god," she says absently, and before she can say anything else Dr. Bright walks out of the room.

"So, next week then?" she says, and Aerith holds her breath.

Tifa shrugs, rotating her shoulder. "Yeah, I suppose."

Cloud walks out behind them, a wide smile on his face, and Dr. Bright looks over at him. "I suppose I'll be seeing you next week as well."

The knowing smile he gives is answer enough, Aerith muses.

**Author's Note:**

> hoo boy friends i haven't posted fanfics online in probably eight years. which isn't to say i haven't been writing, oh no, there's a fucking backlog of shit to go through  
> real talk tho, this might turn into a series because if you've made it to this point there are a lot of tiny details that don't exactly make sense yet and i have Thoughts on them  
> uhhh rate and review? i'm from the good old days in ff.net so no flamers plz lemon lime boyxboy don't like don't read


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